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You are forbidden from playing with your cunt.
Snape’s order plays over and over in Harry’s head as he sits at breakfast, heedless to anything else happening around him. He thinks Ron and Hermione might be arguing over SPEW again, and someone else farther down the long table is panicking about not finishing their Transfiguration essay. Snape isn’t here glaring from the end of the long staff table, probably skulking around his potions lab planning more ways to torture Harry. He doesn’t understand why the man won’t fuck him! Harry has seen how Snape looks at him, dark and predatory, like a large cat stalking its prey. A jaguar, maybe. It’s like he wants to pounce on Harry and mount him, but he won’t let himself.
Harry can barely stand it. Ever since he’s gotten his new cunt, he’s felt hungry—empty. Like there’s a place inside of him that needs filling, something to grip and tighten and gush around. No matter how much he plays with his clit or uses his fingers, it’s not enough. He’s always left unsatisfied, no matter how many toe-curling orgasms he has. It’s never how he remembers Snape touching him with his large hands, the head of his massive cock spearing Harry open and flooding him with hot come. Not how he imagines it would feel if Snape went deeper, giving into the urge to fuck Harry properly, until he’s balls deep.
Harry’s cunt slicks up just thinking about it, and he squeezes his legs together under the table. He feels flushed and hopes no one else notices.
So not touching himself isn’t the problem, it’s that Snape is denying him. Ordering Harry around like he’ll just follow along without a fight, like he’s just a dumb little drooling pussy. Harry burns with frustration.
He’s still mulling this over when he hears his name being called. His head snaps up, expecting it to be Ron appealing to him in his crusade against Hermione, but it’s Malfoy.
‘Oi, Potter!’ he shouts from the table over. Harry rolls his and starts to pack up his things, not in the mood to indulge the other boy’s taunting. Ron and Hermione follow suit, Ron biting back that it’s too early to have to hear Malfoy’s whiny voice.
‘I didn’t ask you, weasel. I was only wondering what has Potty looking like he caught a whiff of dragon dung. Perhaps it’s from sitting next to you.’
‘Piss off, Malfoy.’ Harry looks up from his books and he catches the blond boy’s eyes. They’re not trained on his face, instead scanning up and down his body, something hot caught behind the usual mocking silver gleam. It feels familiar, anticipatory. Almost like …
Malfoy’s gaze snaps back to his face, and his expression twists like he think he’s been caught. ‘Kneazle got your tongue, Potter?’
Harry doesn’t bother to respond, grabbing the last of his books and leaving with Ron and Hermione. He catches one last glimpse of Malfoy’ eyes as they meet his own. They’re opaque, lacking heat, but Harry knows what he saw.
It was the same look Snape gets when Harry is bent over his desk, having his cunt flooded with come.
Harry’s head spins during their double period of Transfiguration, plainly failing to transform his porcupine into a candelabra. It comes out looking more like a massive, spiky fork if anything. Thankfully, McGonagall is too busy with another student, leaving him to think over what he saw back in the Great Hall.
He would recognise that hunger anywhere. He can’t have been imagining it; Draco Malfoy wants to get into his pants. Quite desperately, too, by the look of it. Harry doesn’t know whether to be uncomfortable or smug. Malfoy has been a thorn—however inconsequential—in his side since he arrived at Hogwarts. Harry believed his ire to stem from that first rejection, but now he’s been forced to consider a deeper motivation, that Malfoy has a desire to do things with Harry—intimate things, which he now has an idea about thanks to Snape.
Does Malfoy want a snog? To fondle him under his clothes? Would he grab his hips with the same rough possessiveness that Snape does, or rub his clit in a cruel, purposeful rhythm? Harry doesn’t know if he would be much better at it than Snape, but then again, he’s only ever been with one man. He’s had his cunt fingered and his insides stroked, had come splattered over his holes, even taken that massive cock in his mouth until they both climaxed, but he’s never been kissed.
He has also never actually had a cock in his cunt—not properly, anyway. There is still that pervasive, all-consuming emptiness in him, which Snape refuses to fill himself.
Now he has someone who will.
Malfoy isn’t ugly. A bit pointy looking, and perhaps a tad too blond for Harry’s tastes, but he’s not terrible looking. He could probably be considered more conventionally attractive than Snape. He has those long, tapered fingers that could reach deep inside Harry, and could certainly use his fat gob for something other than talking everyone’s ear off. Harry wonders what his cock looks like. Is it long and thick like Snape’s, does it look like it belongs to a man? Probably not. But he can’t have such an inflated, maddening ego with a pencil between his legs. Perhaps he even has a bit of experience. Parkinson always hangs around him, doesn’t she? She wouldn’t be obsessed with someone who couldn’t make her orgasm.
Snape said he can’t touch himself. Malfoy wants to do it for him.
Harry ruminates on this through the rest of his morning classes, and he plans.
Lunch rolls around.
Flitwick lets them out and Harry is instantly on his feet, rushing ahead of Ron and Hermione, dodging and weaving between chattering students as he hurries to the Great Hall. He needs to intercept Malfoy on his way inside, and the Charms classroom is farther away than the Potions laboratory. He makes it in record time, spotting Malfoy’s distinctive head of pale blond hair, and his hand tightens around the note in his pocket.
Moving swiftly, Harry bumps into him near the entrance. His hand brushes against Malfoy’s expensive leather bag, and he pulls away. Malfoy sneers down at him, Crabbe and Goyle puffing up their chests behind him like trollish bodyguards.
‘Oi, watch it, Potter! I think you had better check the prescription for your glasses, because obviously they’re not working.’
Harry offers a dismissive response and goes to sit down at a table two tables away from the Slytherins. Here, he has an unobstructed view of Malfoy as he takes a seat and sets down his bag beside him. He opens it to put away the book he’s holding, then he falters. He squints down at its contents, reaches inside and pulls out a small slip of paper.
Harry already knows what it will say.
Meet me by the tapestry of the Unicorn in Captivity, 9 o’clock. There’s something we need to discuss. - H
Malfoy’s head snaps towards him and they make eye contact. Something zings between them, hot and potent and threatening to singe them both. Then Harry’s view is obstructed by his friends.
‘Why did you run off so fast? Is there treacle tart being served today?’ Ron demands. ‘You haven’t put anything on your plate!’
Hermione interrogates him on today’s lesson and says she won’t be helping him with the essay as a punishment, clearly aware that he hadn’t been paying attention, while Ron starts to pile food on a plate—potatoes and sausages, mostly, with a side of greens—that he pops in front of Harry, along with an accompanying glass of pumpkin juice. It oddly reminds him of Mrs Weasley hurrying to feed her brood of red-haired children.
He dutifully spears a roasted potato on his fork and brings it to his mouth, but he’s too distracted to taste it. He can feel Malfoy’s penetrating stare, all the way through the throng of students and tables. It follows him as he and the others make their way to History of Magic, their next class, which he zones out of without any guilt. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have Potions today, there’s no way he will be able to stand being around Snape without giving himself away, and who knows what the professor would do if he knew what exactly Harry was planning.
The memory of Malfoy’s gaze doesn’t let up until it’s evening and Harry is safely ensconced within Gryffindor tower, settled in a plush, squishy armchair in front of the fire, his essay stuck on the first sentence. He can’t concentrate. His leg won’t stop shaking, and he taps his quill restlessly on the blank parchment in his lap, staring into the fire. His skin is a livewire, molten and sensitive, as if a hundred invisible hands are sliding over his skin, digging their dexterous fingers into every hollow and crevice, leaving nothing unturned in their relentless search. His clit tingles, his cunt clenching down on nothing. He’s afraid that if he stands up there will be a wet spot on the cushion.
‘What’s got you so bothered?’
He jumps, facing Ron, who similarly has a blank piece of parchment in his lap. His distraction probably isn’t anything to do with propositioning the prat that has made it his life’s mission to harass you at any given opportunity, however.
‘Nothing. Just a bit tired, is all.’ True. He’s been on edge all day, the promise of this evening eating away at him—he wants to give Snape a taste of his own medicine. ‘I have to see Snape tonight.’ False. For once, Harry’s not going to the Potions professor to have his cunt played with and filled with come.
‘Again? I swear you’ve been seeing him almost every day, aren’t you sick of the slimy git!’ Ron exclaims.
A sudden wave of anger overwhelms him.
‘It’s not my fault I have to defend my mind against Voldemort, is it, Ron!’ he snaps, aware that the words are unfair the moment they exit his mouth. He isn’t even seeing Snape tonight, and their Occlumency lessons have taken a bit of a backseat since Harry’s recent biological development.
Sickened with himself, he turns back to glare into the fire. Ron rustles next to him as he packs away his things.
‘All right, then. Sorry for asking,’ he says, and he leaves.
Harry doesn’t last five more minutes before fleeing too. He stashes his unwritten essay upstairs, and then heads out of the Tower, tracing a path up to the Seventh Floor, banishing his and Ron’s conversation from his mind completely.
He arrives a little earlier than he planned to, spotting the tapestry as he rounds a corner, the trapped, pearlescent unicorn glowing faintly in the torchlight. He takes to pacing in front of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer, as he hears footsteps clack against the stone floor. Harry spins around to face Malfoy.
He looks like he always does, pointy and haughty, but something flutters in Harry’s gut. Anticipation, maybe. Desire. He’s wanted this since he first got his cunt, when Snape rubbed his cock against Harry’s pussy and stuffed it full of come. The first seed being planted. Although, he wouldn't have ever guessed that Malfoy would be the one to give Harry his first cock.
Of course, the blond prat immediately ruins it by saying, ‘I didn’t take you for someone who dealt in back alley rendezvous, Potter. Maybe you aren’t as squeaky clean as everyone thinks you are.’
‘Shove it, Malfoy, you don’t know anything about me,’ Harry spits back, rather lamely. Exasperated, he sighs and rolls his shoulders. Before Malfoy can open his fat mouth again, Harry goes on. ‘I didn’t ask you here to trade petty insults. We should have this conversation away from prying eyes.’ He casts a meaningful look towards the paintings lining the end of the corridor, pivoting to walk away.
Malfoy huffs. ‘What, so you can do away with me? As if I’d trust you, Potter.’
‘You did meet me here,’ Harry points out, then stalks away. There’s a long pause, like Malfoy is weighing the pros and cons of following him, but curiosity seems to win out over self-preservation, because Harry hears a long, drawn out breath and the smack of his boots on the cobblestones. They turn off at the end of the corridor, into a small, hidden alcove which one would not notice unless specifically looking for it. There’s a long window and a ledge, as well as a torch on the opposite wall, casting shadows against the centuries-old stone.
Malfoy leans against the wall, nonchalant, looking down his nose at Harry. He really takes advantage of their height difference whenever he can.
This close, alone in this tiny nook in the middle of the night, pale moonlight filtering through the glass-paned window, Harry can’t help but notice the silver lustre of his eyes. The shadows that play on his face and accentuate his sharp cheekbones, the proud slant of his jaw. His lips are thin, pert, but glossy and soft-looking. Like he moisturises them.
Harry swallows. Scuffs his shoe against the floor.
‘Well, Potter, we’re here,’ Malfoy says. ‘Tell me what was so important that you had to smuggle a note into my bookbag and beg me to come and—’
Harry closes the distance between them in a couple of steps, fists his hand in the front of Malfoy’s robes and pulls him down to meet his lips. In the half second before they collide, Harry catches the shocked, unmasked expression on his face, and then he closes his eyes.
His first kiss is … dry is the first word that comes to mind, and awkward. His neck feels a bit cramped from stretching so far up. Nothing like he has heard other people go on about. Harry realises that Snape is even taller—how would that work?
He tries to move his lips against Malfoy’s like he’s seen couples do in the corridors, but a hand presses against his chest and pushes, sending Harry staggering back.
‘What was that for?’ he asks, bringing a hand up to his mouth.
‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but usually it’s common courtesy to ask before you attack someone with your mouth,’ Malfoy derides, the lightest pink dusting his cheeks.
‘But I—I thought you wanted it.’ Didn’t he?
‘What gave you the impression that I was in the mood to be kissed by someone doing an impression of the Giant Squid?’
‘That’s a bit unfair. It can’t have been that bad.’
‘You haven’t had the displeasure of being kissed by yourself.’
‘Show me how, then.’
That unfamiliar, apprehensive expression crosses Malfoy’s face, there and gone again. ‘Merlin, do you even know what you’re asking me?’
‘Yes, obviously,’ Harry says, deadpan. ‘I want you to show me how to kiss you properly. Or how it feels to be kissed properly, rather, to compare notes.’
‘You think you’re funny, Potter. Well, I’ll show you a kiss,’ Malfoy declares boldly, like only he could when offering to give someone a kiss.
Suddenly, Malfoy is in front of him, looming half a head over Harry as he uses a cold hand to tilt his jaw upwards. He does this so confidently that Harry can’t even begin to put up a fight, and then he’s leaning down to take Harry’s mouth in his. It’s much slower than when he attempted it. He thinks Malfoy will immediately use his tongue—but he doesn’t. He moves his lips slightly, gently, the sound of his breath now ingrained in Harry’s mind. His lips are just as soft as they look. It feels far too intimate for an illicit snog in some dark corner of the castle, and unbearably lovely. He wonders how kissing Snape would be. He somehow can’t picture it.
Harry startles as Malfoy places a hand on his hip and spins them around to push him against the wall, their bodies pressed together from thigh to chest, inadvertently pulling away and breaking the kiss. He opens his eyes, which he didn’t even realise he had closed, only to see Malfoy's flushed, but smug face.
‘You kiss someone like that, Potter. Not like you’re setting an erumpent loose in a china shop.’ He smirks. ‘Now open your mouth.’
Harry does, without even thinking about it twice. Malfoy brings their lips together again, but this time he flicks his tongue against Harry’s bottom lip, coy. His belly flutters, and his skin heats from the brief, tantalising contact. Harry leans forward, a whine escaping him, but Malfoy keeps him in place.
‘I agreed to show you, Potter. Don’t get greedy.’
‘Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so slow. It’s like kissing someone’s gran.’
‘I didn’t take you for that kind of freak.’
Before Harry can retort properly, Malfoy licks into his mouth and he forgets what he was going to say. His tongue slides along his bottom lip again, but then dips inside. The hand on his hip slides down to his hot groyne. Harry bucks into it as it settles over his cunt, but it falters. To Harry’s confusion (and frustration, since it was just getting good), Malfoy pulls away to stare oddly at him.
‘You’re not hard,’ he states.
‘What do you—’ Harry begins to ask, before he realises—
Oh. He probably expected Harry to have a cock like any other boy would have. Right.
‘Er … it’s not what you think. I don’t actually have a prick.’
Looking properly flummoxed, Malfoy blinks slowly at Harry. In any other situation, the sight of him so utterly dumbfounded would be the subject of much mockery and amusement, but right now, with Harry so very close to successfully getting what he wants, it makes him annoyed.
‘I’m not lying. You can check.’
He takes Malfoy’s hand and places it on his crotch.
‘Go on. Or are you afraid of what you might find?’
The challenge seems to knock some sense back into him, because Malfoy scowls and rips open the front of Harry’s trousers. He shoves them down a bit and Harry helpfully wiggles his hips, pressing up against the hand now resting against his covered cunt.
Malfoy looks down with an unreadable expression, shadows playing across his face from the torchlight. ‘You have a pussy … You really have a …’
‘Try not to look so surprised, Malfoy. It’s not that weird in a world full of magic.’
‘Even most wizards wouldn’t elect to give themselves a cunt.’
‘S’pose I’m special then.’
‘Or just a slut,’ he says, dragging his knuckles down Harry’s slit, digging them into his dripping entrance through the stained, sopping fabric. His hips jerk helplessly into Malfoy’s fingers. ‘You’re this wet from a bit of snogging.’ He laughs meanly, and Harry hates how hot it makes him feel.
‘S-shut up, I can see your prick poking through your trousers.’
‘I’m a bloke, Potter, it’s only natural. What’s your excuse? You have this needy little cunt between your legs and you probably don’t even know how to use it.’ He sticks his hand down Harry’s pants and rubs his clit for emphasis. ‘How quickly do you think I can make you come, if you’re already dripping and I’ve barely touched you.’
Harry whines as Malfoy’s thumb rubs maddeningly over his clit, in tight, slow circles that have him gasping. It feels like a wet, sloppy handjob, all of those sensitive nerves in his prick condensed into a small needy button begging for attention. Desperately, Harry grabs Malfoy’s wrist between his fingers to stop him.
‘Don’t!’ he cries.
‘Why? Afraid that you’ll come like a dirty slut in front of me?’
Harry shakes his head. ‘No, no …’ This isn’t how this evening was supposed to go. Not at all. He would lure Malfoy here and seduce him enough to piss off Snape and make him see that he can’t control Harry, that was the plan. Instead, here he is, head thrown back against the wall as Malfoy lightly presses against his hole, his insides clenching around nothing. Maybe he was in over his head when he let Snape brew that potion.
‘You say that, but your body is so honest for me, Potter. I can feel how much you want it.’
And with that, he pulls down Harry’s wet pants to bare his cunt to the cold air. Those fingers come back and stroke over his slit, dipping inside for a moment before pulling away when Harry bucks into them.
‘You look so slutty like this. Who’d have thought, the Chosen One, begging me to stick my fingers in his cunny.’
‘I’m not begging, you prat.’
‘You’re right.’ He gets a cruel gleam in his eyes and, to Harry’s horror, takes his hand away completely, leaving his cunt sensitive and twitching and most importantly empty. ‘Beg me to finger you.’
‘I won’t.’
Malfoy leans down until their foreheads are touching, and they’re sharing the same air. He’s completely bracketing Harry like this, bent over him, one hand positioned on the wall by his head and the other, the one that was touching his pussy, on his hip. ‘I could leave, right now. I’m not getting anything out of this. I could leave and tell the whole castle that Harry Potter has a filthy, needy cunt that he’ll let anyone get their hands on. I bet you’d bend over for half the school if it meant you got filled.’
‘You’re so full of shit, Malfoy.’
Harry closes his eyes, to stop looking at him. But then Malfoy starts rubbing against the crevice of skin between his thigh and cunt, so close to where he wants it but not enough.
‘You have five seconds to decide, Potter, or else I’m leaving, and by tomorrow morning, everyone will know how much of a slut you are.’
‘Five … four … three … t—’
‘Fine! Fine, I want you to finger me, you arse.’
‘A bit nicer, if you will.’
Harry glares, fury tempered only by the hand so tantalisingly close to his pussy. ‘Please.’
‘That’s all you had to say.’ Malfoy smirks, and then two fingers are being pressed inside of Harry, sinking down to the last knuckle. Harry lets out a sigh of relief, flexing around the intrusion as they begin to piston in and out of him.
‘Fuck, you’re so tight and wet.’ As if to punctuate this statement, Harry’s cunt squelches, slick gushing out of him. It’s obscenely loud in the silence of the castle after curfew.
Harry bites his lip to quieten his moans, his quivering legs threatening to give out from under him. He’s been craving this all day: the heat, pressure that has been slowly building in his belly finally threatening to pop. It’s only been a day since he last saw Snape and he’s gone mad. Maybe he really is a slut, if he needs his cunt filled every day to function. Malfoy’s suggestion to have half the school fuck him doesn’t sound so bad, now, in hindsight.
‘Yeah, Malfoy, don’t stop! … Don’t stop touching me!’
‘Can't believe you've got a cunt, Potter,’ Malfoy half-says half-groans, looking down at what he's doing. ‘You're so sloppy down here, too …’
He uses his thumb to press down on Harry’s clit as he pumps his fingers inside, now making rapid, short thrusts that keep him full. Harry moans and squeezes down on them, trying to milk them like a cock.
‘Fucking hell, that’s hot, you’re perfect like this,’ Malfoy whispers.
His warm breaths fan over Harry’s face, and he catches himself watching the way he licks his lips. He wonders how they would feel on his pussy, licking and sucking on him until he comes, two long, tapered fingers thrusting into him.
‘… Feels so good,’ Harry whines, his hips jerking towards Malfoy, his hands coming up to grab hold of his arms and steady himself.
‘Are you gonna cum if I keep doing this?’
‘Ah … Yes, yes …’
‘Fine, I'll make you come …’
If Harry were more of sound mind, he would roll his eyes at this and probably say something inflammatory, but as it is, he just nods and begs, ‘Please, yes, don’t stop until I come, I want to come—’
‘Come for me, Potter’ Malfoy says, leaning in to kiss Harry, and then the dam breaks, pleasure washing over Harry and consuming him. His thighs spasm, nails digging into Malfoy’s arms to keep himself upright. His mouth falls open, useless, and Malfoy licks into him, still pumping into his cunt, taking him in both holes. Harry rides it out, still shaking, already cresting over his second orgasm until Malfoy harshly bites his lip and leans back, his fingers leaving Harry’s oversensitive, spasming cunt.
‘No, no,’ he whines, ‘I want to come again.’
‘You really are greedy.’
Harry slowly slides to the ground, his legs too weak to support him, trousers bunched up around his knees and pants damp with come. He’s a complete wreck, collapsed on the ground in front of Malfoy after having his cunt fingerfucked until he came all over his fingers.
Just to rub salt in the wound, Malfoy sneers, ‘You look so pathetic like this, Potter. It really turns me on.’ He runs his hand over the bulge tenting his trousers. ‘You want it, don’t you? You looked like you were taking cock as you rode my fingers.’
Harry blinks up wetly at him, as Malfoy unbuttons his fly and takes out his hard, throbbing prick. He wraps his hand around it and strokes himself, the foreskin pulling back over the rosy pink head as clear pre-come beads at the tip. It’s paler than Snape’s, thinner and skinnier too, with a thatch of neat blond hair at the base. But he supposes it’s unfair to compare them. Snape has a monster in his pants, such that Harry thought it would break him if Snape just stuck it inside—not that he still didn’t want it—and Harry’s cock before he traded it in for a pussy wasn’t as big as Malfoy’s is.
‘If you think I’m going to suck your cock, Malfoy,’ Harry spits out, ‘you’re dead wro—’ he gets cut off by the other boy slapping his cock on his cheek, staining it with pre-come and dislodging his glasses.
‘You’re practically drooling, Potter. This is the reason you invited me here, isn’t it?.’ He slides his cockhead down to Harry’s mouth, and rests it on Harry’s bottom lip. ‘You wanted me to fuck your little throat with my fat cock.’
Harry licks his lips and swipes the head. It tastes salty, and clean. Malfoy hisses. ‘You’re already on your knees. You’ve come this far, let me stick my fingers in your cunt and make you come, are you really going to say no?’
Harry’s still reeling from his orgasm, blood pumping, body flushed, hole fluttering. He wants to let Malfoy fuck his mouth.
Damn him.
Harry parts his lips, and Malfoy doesn’t waste a second before filling his mouth, hitting the back of his throat before pulling out and thrusting back in. Harry runs his tongue along the underside of his cock, swallowing around him, trying to take him deeper. Malfoy keeps bullying his cock inside until his balls touch Harry’s chin and his nose is buried in his neat, blond pubes.
‘Fuck … you’ve done before, haven’t you?’ He asks, with a hard edge to his voice. ‘Hah, you really are a slut, Potter. Well then, I’m gonna fuck the memory of whoever’s used your throat out of you.’ He drags his cock out until only the head is inside, then starts to piston inside. Harry gags wetly around it, spit pooling in his mouth, but he doesn’t stop, grabbing onto Malfoy’s thigh with one hand to steady himself while he’s used like a toy, something to be fucked and filled before being discarded.
‘You feel so good. Merlin, you’re the best head I’ve gotten before. Forget Quidditch, you were made to suck cock.’
With some difficulty, Harry pulls off, spit drooling down the side of his mouth. He runs his hot, wet tongue over the head, licking up all of the saliva dripping from it. ‘I could do this while riding a broom and I’d still beat you.’
Malfoy glares heatedly at him, then grips Harry’s hair in a fist, pulling on his scalp as he shoves himself back inside. Harry moans around the fat prick buried in his throat.
‘Less whining and more sucking,’ Malfoy says.
‘Haa, that’s so fucking hot …’ he moans, looking down at Harry with dark, enraptured eyes. ‘I’ve been wanting to get my hands in your bird’s nest of hair for years. It’s as soft as it looks, and just the right length for me to do this.’
He uses his grip to pull Harry along his cock, bottoming out completely before pulling out and doing it again, wet firm balls slapping against his chin, prick filling Harry’s throat and making him swallow around it.
Harry’s head feels like it’s full of wool. He can’t focus on anything else other than the heat pooling in his belly, and the cock in his mouth. Clumsily, he brings his other hand to his cunt and inserts two fingers, palm pressed against his clit. He doesn’t even bother to move them, just rides his hand as Malfoy thrusts into him.
‘Fuck, fuck—I’m going to come, I’m going to come in your slutty throat,’ Malfoys groans above him, grabbing Harry’s head in both of his hands as he buries himself in his throat. Harry gurgles a moan, grinding down on his palm, sparks shooting down his spine. His cunt spasms around his fingers, gushing come as his throat constricts around Malfoy’s prick. His clit pulses against his palm as he rubs it raw. He shouldn’t be able to come this much, he feels like he’s in heat, he just wants to come over and over again until he’s a sloppy mess between his legs.
Just as he thinks Malfoy’s going to shoot down his gullet, filling his belly with warmth, he yanks Harry’s hair back and pulls out, his cock jerking and throbbing in front of him, the head red and engorged as the piss slit yawns open. Malfoy, above him, pants and heaves, like he’s in pain. Harry whines and tries to take it back in his mouth, his tongue lolling out, but Malfoy’s grip on his hair keeps him still.
‘As good as your mouth feels, Potter, I want to finish buried inside your cunt,’ he growls, pulling Harry to his feet and shoving him into the cold cobblestone wall. Kitten-weak and feverish with need, the only thing holding him up is Malfoy’s tight grasp on his hips, and his chest against Harry’s back, their feet tangled together.
Panting, cheek pressed against the wall, Harry whines, ‘No, just come in my mouth, I can’t—’
‘You can’t take me in your cunt, is that it? After I ruined your throat? Don’t be pathetic, Potter, we both know you need me here.’ Malfoy drags his fingers over his slit, slow and cruel. It makes Harry dizzy with need. He’s still riding the shockwaves of his last orgasm, oversensitive and needy—he could have come again, just a bit more, why does Malfoy have to be such a prick … ‘Aren’t you empty, I could fill up, just like I filled your throat. Don’t you want my come, Potter …’
Gasping, Harry gives in, ‘Fine, fine yes, do it, fuck my pussy, you bastard.’
‘With pleasure,’ Malfoy purrs.
He takes away his hand and immediately replaces it with his cock, soft and warm and throbbing against his entrance. He rubs it teasingly up and down, bumping against Harry’s sensitive clit.
‘Just stick it in, you git,’ Harry yowls, humping back against it.
‘You don’t have a cock in you and you immediately turn into a little shit, I should have guessed that you were—’ He pushes the head inside, Harry’s cunt opening up for it like a flower to the sun, ‘—a mouthy slut.’
Tightening his grip on Harry’s hips, Malfoy holds his wriggling body still as he thrusts into his cunt, cock eagerly being swallowed up by his wet, hot walls. Harry’s pussy flutters as places previously untouched are now cleaved apart by that fat prick. They both simultaneously groan as Malfoy bottoms out, pelvis pressed against Harry’s ass.
Malfoy’s hot breath fans across the sweaty nape of Harry’s neck. ‘Fuck, you’re so tight, Potter,’ he groans.
‘Obviously, I haven’t taken a dick before.’
Malfoy’s breath stutters. His nails dig into the flesh of Harry’s waist. ‘You … you haven’t …’
‘Yeah, now can you hurry up, I’m going to fall asleep if you don’t start moving,’ Harry gripes, wiggling his hips back against Malfoy’s groyne, his inner walls flexing and fluttering around his cock.
Malfoy chuckles airily. ‘Don’t worry, Potter, you won’t be without my prick for long.’
‘Fuck off, Malfoy—!’
Just as Harry says this, he pulls out then slams back in, immediately setting a brutal place as he fucks in and out of Harry’s needy hole, hips slamming into Harry’s ass with a clapping sound. Harry struggles to hold himself upright, mostly leaning against the wall as his hands scramble for purchase on the uneven cobblestones. His legs are straining from being on his tiptoes, his sensitive nipples scraping against the wall through his thin shirt.
‘Your cunt feels so bloody good around my cock,’ Malfoy moans against Harry’s neck. Harry clenches down around him. ‘Fuck!’
He presses his mouth to Harry’s skin and sucks, teeth digging into him.
‘Don’t—Malfoy, you’re going to leave a mark …!’ Harry protests, but Malfoy doesn’t listen to him, still laving at his neck and scattering love bites up and down his shoulder and neck, pounding into him. Harry pictures Snape’s enraged, jealous face at seeing them decorating his neck and his displeasure flits away.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been like this, his mind a mess after all of those orgasms and having Malfoy inside of him, but soon Malfoy is announcing that he’s going to come, his hips slamming into Harry even more urgently, filling the small alcove with the sounds of their fucking. And he doesn’t seem to be stopping, his voice spouting a litany of curses, saying that Harry feels so good, he takes cock so well, he’s such a fucking slut, fucking into Harry as deeply as possible.
Harry comes again, yelling as he gushes around Malfoy’s cock, which pushes the other boy over the edge, thrusting inside thrice more before he stops, balls deep, grinding his narrow hips into Harry’s ass as he shoots hot, thick come inside of his cunt. It’s nothing like how Snape does it, just the head of his cock enveloped in Harry’s pussy—it’s touching places Harry has never felt before, like it’s all the way in his belly. He can’t believe Snape has denied the both of them this.
Well, too bad for him, Harry thinks spitefully as he milks all of the come from Malfoy’s cock. All too quickly, however, Malfoy starts to pull out, churning up Harry’s oversensitive pussy as he leans away. Of course the prick wouldn’t let Harry enjoy his afterglow.
‘Bloody hell, Potter—you’re better than I expected,’ he says.
Harry tilts his head back to look at him. He’s flushed, his gelled hair mussed and falling around his face. It looks surprisingly good on him, less pointy. It’s ruined when he smirks, smarmy till the end, and slaps his half-hard cock against Harry’s ass, rubbing in between the crack.
‘You know, I wanted to come in your ass—at least before I found out you had a little pussy between your legs. you’ll have to let me fuck you here too.’
He slaps the head against Harry’s ass but doesn’t push inside, just seems to admire the way it looks.
‘Yeah, as if this is happening again. I just did this to prove a point.’ Harry turns around to lean against the wall, not bothering to pull up his trousers despite the cold draft that seems to be a permanent fixture of the castle.
Malfoy’s flush turns blotchy, eyes narrowing in anger.
‘You’re lucky I fucked you, you know. You certainly couldn’t do better,’ Malfoy spits, doing up his buttons and slicking back his hair.
Harry snorts. ‘Yeah, right. Weren’t you the one who said half the school would fuck me?’
‘You really are a fucking slut.’ He scans Harry up and down, looking unbearably pleased with himself. ‘I trust you’ll be able to clean yourself up,’ he says, then swans away, disappearing into the darkness.
Alone now, Harry lets his head smack against the wall, groaning to himself. Why did he do that? His fingers inspect his ruined, leaking cunt, the one that Snape gave him, the one he probably feels entitled to, that he expects no one else to touch because Harry is a good little boy who does what’s told of him if it means he gets cock. The one that Snape is likely going to ruin even more when he finds out exactly what Harry did, and with who.
That’s why.
The next day, Harry receives a summons for his next Occlumency lesson.